


Road Less Travelled

by astrotxt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ?????, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, also a magical place where every possible coincidence that could happen DOES, also also why a medieval au i am terrible at writing dialogue for this au it makes me cry, and jo being her knight, anna being a gorgeous bamf healer, commoner!cas, i like the anna being cas' teacher trope it's probably one of my faves in their relationship tbh, royalty!dean, rule!63, so there, this is a strange fusion of historical and fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrotxt/pseuds/astrotxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of Winchester held great respect among the islands; despite lacking in prosperity, they were renowned for both their unwavering honour and the bloodthirsty knights that would avenge that honour if betrayed. Queen Mary ruled with an iron fist concealed in a glove, and ever since the death of her husband, Prince John, she had raised her knights with grace and ruthlessness, including her two daughters, the princesses of Winchester. She wasn’t to know how her eldest snuck out of the castle under cover of darkness, never intending to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Less Travelled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/gifts).



Castielle was quite ready to break her master’s neck with the way he spoke to her, as if she were kicked in the head by an ass as a child. His spittle created a thin gauze across her face and she stood unflinching, taking every word. She could not afford to lose her employment as his servant, regardless of his maltreatment of her. She was still an apprentice, still learning, and she had to bide her time. That was until he insulted her younger sister Hannah, at which point she promptly connected her fist soundly with his jaw.

As she was relieved of her duties soon after, and she waited until she was certain there was none around to hear her weeping. She would have to starve herself another moon so that Hannah was well enough to last through the winter. Rain started to pelt down, as if enough hadn’t happened that day, and she ran to the only place she could.

Bursting into Anna’s home, she wordlessly strode over to her station, sitting patiently for their last appointment of the day. Anna glided over, a picture of grace, always keeping the people she healed at ease even before she would administer their cure. Blacksmith Fitzgerald was ailing of a troublesome ankle, swelled up twice its size. Anna simply smiled, talked to him and held her hand out for Castielle to aid her. Castielle picked up the salve Anna had helped her prepare a few days prior, and Anna talked through the process, for both the benefit of Garth and Castielle.

“You must rub in large, slow, soothing circles to enact the ingredients. It’s smells heavenly, does it not?” Garth nodded and Anna carried on smiling as she wrapped a clean rag around the ankle, keeping the salve clinging to the skin. “I asked Castielle to add something and she picked bergamot. Bergamot! At this time of year!” she shook her head and Castielle blushed slightly. “I do not know what I would do without her assistance.”

As Garth hobbled out, with his payment of sending someone over to fix their windows with a sturdier material, Castielle sat back at her table and opened up a large volume to where she’d left it before. It was truly a gift, to be able to read. It was rare of anyone from her perceived lowly background to even pursue education, let alone a young woman. But nearing twenty years of age, she was insatiable, always needing to know more. That was when she had come across Anna, at the time a travelling book merchant, coming through their town with witchcraft in her hamper and a do-good nature in her heart. She'd taught Castielle everything she knew about healing, only a few years older than she was but much wiser than many (foolishly) assumed.

Sat in her station, she berated herself for her rash behaviour. Fergus Crowley was influential, his opinion often swayed the majority of his crowd, which meant that disrespecting him meant starvation or searching for new shelter. Anna placed a hand on her shoulder, disturbing her reverie. Her kind brown eyes were a stark contrast to Castielle’s own starkly blue ones, and Anna made a face of sympathy. She sat by Castielle, pulling many herbs and potions from her bag, more than they could possibly need for the next few days.

“Sweetheart, I must journey to the Harvelle Kingdom for, um, for supplies.” she said gently, and Castielle’s eyes went wide.

“But- but that’s nearly five days there and back!” she fretted, looking around her space. “I am just your apprentice! I don’t know what- what to do!” she paled at a sudden thought, whispering, “What if I end up killing someone?”

Anna laughed brightly, “Castielle! Have a little faith! You have been my apprentice for several years, and you know almost as much as I do.” she murmured, “Your bedside manner leaves much to be admired, but your desire to help, to  _heal_ , that is the reason I took you on.” She lifted a heavy bag onto her back and was nearly gone before she said, “You must learn to think for yourself, sweetheart.”

***

After rushing home and hounding Gabriel down to take Hannah in for a few days, Castielle sat back at her station, furiously preparing for- well anything. She needed to be ready for anything, anyone that needed her. She breathed very deeply to calm her nerves as the sun rose and set. No one came.

She sat and fidgeted until she heard a commotion in the alley by the hut. She peered out of the window to see a young man, shrouded in forest green silks, lightly but significantly embroidered. Reckless, stupid to parade such treasure around these parts. Castielle drew out Anna’s large kitchen knife and rolled up her sleeves, her hair matted and short with sweat and dirt. It was raining again, God crashing His bright lightning, the light catching on the large blade in her hand. She was here to protect. She was here to heal, but also to prevent the need for healing. Her fingers curled too familiarly around the grip and the three larger men turned to her laughing. 

Looking around quickly to check that the surrounding area was deserted, she leapt forward and plunged the knife deeply into the first man’s shoulder, and he cried in pain as the blood gushed. She held his weight against her own, her eyes flashing in the unforgiving weather. As the first man dropped to the floor, the other two scrambled to their feet, abandoning the poor boy at their feet.

Castielle hurried over, hitching up her skirt and kneeling in the muddying street. She carefully moved the boy, his hair shorn short and his breaths laboured. Beneath her hand, she felt the hot pump of blood and saw that he had not escaped unscathed, a small but deep wound by the amount of blood, although it may have been increased by the rain. Castielle was maintaining composure while her heart hammered inside her chest. With barely a grunt of effort, Castielle lifted the young man, kicking in the door with an additional crack of lightning and setting him on the bed.

He moaned and his eyelids fluttered. Castielle had to keep him awake, keep him conscious; who knew if he would slip away never to be seen again? She placed clean rags and a special salve given to Anna a very long time ago. It was a secret concoction that stemmed the flow of blood and helped knit the skin back together, and Castielle slathered it on carelessly, desperate to save this young man. He coughed, still awake.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she asked, desperately to keep the frantic tone from her voice.

He stirred, “I- I can.”

She nodded putting pressure onto the wound before binding it tightly. “Can you tell me your name, where are your family?”

“I, I am,” he cried out, strangely high-pitched, Castielle, pressing her blood-stained hand to the bandage, before he winced and carried on, “I’m De- Dean. I am Dean.” he nodded as if he weren’t sure. He must have sustained a concussion too, and she quickly ran for a special tea, more desperate to keep him awake than ever.

“Dean, you must stay here, with me.” Castielle said firmly, unsure of what to do, of how she must proceed. Anna was usually so good at speaking to them, to keeping them on the edge of their seats while she told- “Stories!” she cried, “I’ll tell you stories of my childhood!”

Dean, despite probably being in a profound amount of pain, squinted at her, “Stories? But we have never met before today.”

“Yes, but I need you to, to please stay awake, Dean!” she snapped and he gulped. Taking that as assent, she stroked his forehead with a damp rag, trying to make her rasping growl sound as soothing as Anna’s beautiful voice. She failed miserably. “I was brought up in a kingdom vastly different from this place. It was hot, burning sand wherever you walked, yet no one wore much beyond simple sandals for the heat was just cool enough to be bearable, but the sun gave us such bounty. Through my village there was a long, long river, and me and my sisters and brothers, we would play in the water. It was like an oasis,” she faltered.

Dean coughed, and she jumped to find his- his eyes searching for her eyes. His eyes were nothing short of jewels in a perfectly sculpted face, almost that of a woman’s, the features were so delicate. Her stomach dropped as he gasped, “So- so why did you come,” he gulped as she waited patiently, “why are you here?” She gaped a little, and he struggled, “That place- it sounds so beautiful. Why would you leave?”

Castielle felt her gut lurch with the memory, “Because I had to.” she whispered, and Dean gasped again, and Castielle looked up with tears in her eyes, for the bright green ones staring back at here, embedded in the most beautiful face she had ever seen, were losing their light.

“Dean?” she said, rushing for a concoction to ease the pain, but his eyelids were already drooping. “Dean, please,” she begged, tears gone and instead enraged, enraged at God for daring to take this man she knew, she  _knew_ she was destined to save, “Dean, stay here.”

He looked up at her and murmured something she couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean?” she asked, leaning closer to his lips, and he whispered.

“You have eyes like stars, dear angel.” 

 _Oh,_  he was delusional, that was just what Castielle needed. She sighed, and poured another concoction in with the first and gently raised Dean’s head for him to drink from. He gulped it down gratefully, choking a little before Castielle rubbed at his mysteriously small adam’s apple to ease it down. He settled and Castielle lifted his tunic, strangely rather hairless across his abdomen, but thankfully the blood flow had stopped. She stroked through his sandy hair once, twice, three times, before simply sitting and waiting by him in case he stirred. She allowed him to drift off to sleep, the danger appeased for now. As Castielle watched Dean’s face through the night, she couldn’t help but reach out, touching his face as he breathed gently, dreaming undisturbed. Her entire body was warm, ignoring the stark cold of the oncoming winter. in the light of young Dean.

*** 

A rooster distantly crowed and Castielle woke, spittle collected down her face. She smiled lazily, however, once she saw Dean’s hand clasped in hers, his thumb gracing over hers. He grumbled starting to turn, and he stank, of sweat, adrenaline, dried blood. Castielle cursed herself, at her carelessness, her selfishness at leaving her charge in his own filth all night. 

Once she’d gathered a small pail of water and poured a soap into it, bringing out another clean rag, she carefully peeled back his tunic, only to find his chest bound. She tilted her head. That was rather… odd. Perhaps he had been in another fight? But… looking closer, she could see smaller mounds beneath the cloth (incredibly fine linen) that moved with every soft breath Dean took. As she, very softly, went to pull the drawstrings on his trousers she found that he was somewhat… lacking in manhood. She cleaned where she could, not wishing to disturb Dean, Castielle’s mind whirred. She had heard of people like Dean, almost entirely from Anna, who was always far more knowledgable than her master, who had once commented on these kinds of people. Anna had described it as people born into the wrong kind of body, who were men or women inside, but their outsides were the opposite. Castielle frowned, especially at the royal seal just above his chest. The boy had probably been forced into being a servant girl and been branded with that seal as property. Castielle had seen that kind of barbarism before when-

But Dean stirred awake, his tunic up and his trousers down. He was very much exposed and staring right at Castielle. With a yelp he fell off the table and stumbled upright, yet as Castielle approached him she held her hand out.

“You… you undressed me.” a cloud came over his lovely- no,  _handsome_ , face, “How  _dare_ you?” and Castielle flinched at that. She’d never heard a servant girl with so much authority in her voice. “You were going to rob me, or, what, get a handsome reward for returning the princess?” he snarled, and  _wait a second_.

“You’re- you’re the princess?” she whispered, and Dean’s eyes went wide as saucers. // She stumbled over her words, running a hand through her hair, “You… didn’t know?”

“You- your hair is short, and your breasts were bound and I thought- I thought you were a boy!” she cried, incredibly confused and slightly light-headed, unable to recall the last time she’d eaten.

Dean looked rather indignant, snorting, “You thought I was a boy?”

Castielle’s mouth gaped, “You made me believe you were a boy!” she cried, her turn for indignance.

Dean smirked at that, “Do you believe every charming young man that comes your way?”

Castielle scowled, “Just the most pitiful-looking.”

Dean didn’t lower that infernal smirk of hers, and Castielle felt a blush rising to her cheeks hotly as Dean sauntered, despite dropped trousers and her rumpled tunic nearly reaching her knees. She sat back on the bed, looking… very strangely down at Castielle. “It is surely unwise for beautiful young maidens to believe  _everything_  they hear or see.”

“It is surely unwise for intelligent young women to let their lying patients continue to embarrass themselves with false flattery,” she bit back, and with a swish of her skirts, she left. “I will return shortly.”

***

When Dean woke again, Castielle was ready to administer more salve to help the wound heal. She leaned up, letting Castielle’s hand wander over her wound, the raised flesh angry and red, but already soothing into the soft of her stomach. Castielle thanked Anna and her Lord for saving Dean, although it was probably because she was a princess. She had duties to her family, to her kingdom, destined for greatness. So why was she here, dressed as a young man?

Dean flicked those wicked green eyes to her and she blushed. “What are your thoughts?” she murmured. Castielle only tilted her head, and Dean huffed a small laugh, “You look deep in thought. Tell me.”

Castielle cleared her throat, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand she could divulge her confusion to the princess, get her answers. Or she could keep quiet, shake her head and get on with her job, sending Dean away to do as she would.

“Why would you run away?” she asked, sounding more harsh to her own ears than she intended. 

Dean looked down, a sweet blush lighting up- oh, freckles. Lord give her strength. “Have you ever felt that life- it expects one thing of you, a path, that you do not wish to follow?”

“Regardless of whether we do not wish to, we must.” she said suddenly, her father’s voice echoing in her ears, “It is God’s will, whether than path is a path of suffering or of joy.”

“I do not wish to avoid or pursue either, I wish to simply forge my own.” Dean protested, her voice more defensive. “You are a believer of the One God, I assume?”

“Yes.” she straightened her back, “I am.”

“That is both brave and unwise in this kingdom.” Dean murmured, and Castielle couldn’t tell if she was being threatening or simply curiously noting it. Castielle knew full well it was dangerous to flaunt her faith in the kingdom of Winchester, that they ascribed to the Old Gods, believed in their primordial power, an earthy richness to their religion. But it had not been safe, and even with the danger here, it was preferable to her last home. “Where did you say you were from?”

Castielle blanched. How foolish had she been, telling a complete stranger things she hadn’t even told Anna, things she should never even hint at in this place. “I thought… I thought you were delusional. I was trying to keep you awake.”

“You saved my life, Castielle.” Dean stated. And with that she lay back, saying nothing more for the rest of the day. Castielle tended to her as her mind struck through panic then relief as Dean seemed intent on staying silent, in more ways than one.

*** 

The third day rolled around and Castielle was nauseous from lack of food and sleep. As she watched over Dean while she slept, her eyes started to droop, and suddenly she was falling off her stool onto the hut floor with a thud and a grunt. 

The noise clearly woke Dean, her head shot up and terrified, sounding far too young, cried, “Sam?” 

Castielle groaned as she got up, but when she felt faint, blood rushing to her head too quickly, she was caught under her arms by strong, callused hands. Her eyes flickered and she heard another grunt before she fell unconscious.

*** 

Castielle woke to a cool hand under her neck, tipping it forward to taste the most delicious broth she’d ever tasted. And her brother had been one of the royal cooks, so that truly meant something. She moaned around the lip of the bowl, bringing her hands up to hold it herself. When she’d had her fill, she gasped and lay back, feeling a little sick, but full and sated. She jumped out of her skin when she saw that it had been Dean holding the bowl, and she was blushing more furiously than she had before. 

“Why are you out of bed?” she snapped, although it didn’t have much bite when she was lying droopy-eyed on the bed Dean was meant to be occupying. She groaned, leaning back on her haunches and glaring at Dean. Dean, the menace, just grinned at her. 

“You fainted. I felt well enough to go and fetch ingredients, and made you something to get your strength back.” she transferred her weight from one foot to the other, “Does it suffice?” she beamed, and Castielle felt her cheeks hurt for how much she was smiling, before she realised that no, she couldn’t, the princess  _had to leave_. It was hard to match this sweet young woman with the perfect soldier of legend, but she supposed she too was a series of multitudes, that many were confused or threatened by her complexity. Forcing her to a path that was not what she wished. Perhaps that was why Dean had to leave.

Castielle felt her heart clench so painfully, she sharply inhaled. “Yes, Dean- your, your highness.” she stumbled.

“Please, Dean. Dean is what I wish for you to call me.” she insisted.

That smile returned to grace Castielle’s aching cheeks and she knew she was a fool, but she couldn’t look away from the brightness of the runaway princess’ grin.

***

The next day, Dean was up and moving, insisting on helping Castielle with her duties, sorting through the potions and disinfecting the rags, and Castielle just couldn’t stop  _scowling_. Dean was nothing but efficient and helpful, and it was… irritating. She had helped several people, with hissed instruction from Castielle, naturally, but she was almost preternaturally gifted at healing. She didn’t stop working, despite her still-healing wound, and it was frustrating. It was as if she felt she owed Castielle for her services. Or she was getting ready to ask something difficult, softening the blow. Gabriel often used to rub Castielle’s feet before he informed her that the dog had relieved itself among her silks.

“So you are from the Desert Realms?” she said casually, as if it weren’t punishable by death to be associated with the far-off kingdom, an enemy to the Winchester royal family for generations. Hatred was usually inherited, yet Castielle heard only curiosity. “I have never met anyone from the Desert Realms, but I’ve heard of the cruelty of its ruler.”

Castielle bristled, unable to bite her tongue against the automatic bias Winchester folk had against  _her_ people. “Cruelty, it seems, is relative. One might argue that the Queen is cruel to brand her own flesh and blood.”

Dean said nothing for a while, and Castielle feared she had crossed a line that should never have been crossed. But then- “You make a fair point, Cas.”

“Cas?” she tilted her head, for no one but her brother Michael had called her that for years. She missed him dearly.

“Yes, since Castielle is quite the mouthful,” she smiled to herself, “and yet, you avoid my initial question. Are you from the Desert Realms?”

Cas sighed. “I am.” 

Dean nodded, and carried on peeling potatoes, and for a while there was silence, the sound of the skin shredding into the spare pail. Dean clearly could not help herself, however, “Why did you leave your home if cruelty is relative?”

Worrying her bottom lip under her teeth, Cas paused. To tell the princess, on whatever excursion she was on, about her status, about where she was from, was surely suicide. Not only that, but her family would most likely be rounded up and killed too. And yet there was none of the rash danger that the legend of the eldest princess boasted of in Dean’s eyes. Simply understanding and patience. Cas took a deep breath and leaned her carried on peeling as her tale was spun, so faraway, it was almost like it hadn’t happened to her. If only.

“My family were part of the emperor’s guard in the Desert Realm. We were practically royalty, the most trusted family. We had servants and gold and silks and happiness. In exchange we were all ready to lay down our lives for the emperor, as our grandfather had and his ancestors had too. Always. My brothers taught me everything there was to know about fighting, except for Gabriel,” she smirked at the memory, “he was the inventor of our family, creating contraptions no one had seen or heard of before. He is a marvel, truly.” She faltered, the potato practically non-existent. “Then the emperor he- he turned on us all, killing my mother and my father and my eldest brothers and sisters, Michael, Lucifer, Raphaelle, Rachel, Hester- ” she gasped a moment, remembering their faces, daring to say their names out loud for the first time outside of prayer since they’d been slaughtered. “Gabriel and I took my sister Hannah, still a baby then, and- we ran. We had nothing and we ran, until we came across a merchant who offered to take us into Winchester. We knew no one would follow us and- oh.” Her hands were trembling, the knife in her fist tight and cutting into skin. “And we went to work. Gabriel peddled his inventions until he was able to feed us, but then he became a husband. And I look after Hannah.” she finished lamely, dropping the misshapen potato into the pot. She did not expect a warm hug as she did so, clasped into the warmth of Dean’s body, holding her closely. Her arms were limp at her side, and Dean pulled away. Cas found herself wishing that she hadn’t, scowling at herself and walking over to the broth to prepare the water.

*** 

Cas was certain Anna was returning that day, and she knew she had to get Dean away before then. Anna was incredibly kind, but Cas feared it was to take advantage to let Dean stay too. She could not possibly afford to take both her and Castielle in, not with Cas having been dismissed; she had no other way to provide for her family. As she walked into the hut, Dean was already making them lunch, and that familiar clench took hold in Cas’ heart, watching the young women sneak some of Anna’s more expensive spices into the food.

Dressed in Cas’ clothes, letting Cas cut her hair to a respectable style with her hair flicking upward, Dean was a vision. Her long neck, barely exposed to the sun, was covered in freckles, but hardly rivalled the constellations across the bridge of her nose. Cas never quite tired of attempting to count every single one. She’d begun to dream of plush lips meeting hers, hands wandering and breathy moans, of tastes not yet tasted, and just the thought of Dean moaning into her mouth had her blushing wildly. She turned to splash some water in her face, cooling herself down. This was a less than fortunate situation.

Once they’d sat down and had their lunch, Dean went to start working again, no longer moving stiffly when she had to turn. Anna’s miracle salve had barely left a mark. Cas braced herself, trusting in the will of God to help Dean back on her path, away from her. Despite never wanting Dean to leave her side, Cas knew eventually she had to return, and either way Anna would not be able to keep them both. Interrupting her thoughts was Henriksen, Captain of the Queen’s Guard, and a sweet though brusque patient. He often had trouble with his knee after shattering it in battle, and Cas would usually be the one to aid him, easing the tension and giving him a cream to apply at night.

“Castielle, you look well.” he said, looking around the small hut. “And this place smells better than it usually does.”

She playfully put her hand on her hip, “And what exactly does it usually smell like, pray tell?”

“Odorous feet, mostly.” he laughed, and she scowled until she was giggling too. Dean was no where to be seen.

Cas sent him on his way and Dean skulked out of the shadows, her face dipped into a pout. Cas frowned.

“Are you alright, Dean?” she asked, and Dean’s eyes went wide.

“Can I stay with you, Cas?” she blurted, “I- I’ll pay my way, I have money. I was going to go to Harvelle, but I- ” and she looked very uncomfortable, avoiding Castielle’s gaze, “it seems wiser staying here. With you.” Her face brightened with a lop-sided smile, “You’ve taught me so much in so little time, and I feel that I am doing good here. More good than I did at home, anyway,” she trailed off sadly, bunching her hands in her dress.

Castielle saw Dean’s reaction before she’d even registered what words came from her own mouth, “We can’t Dean. It’s too dangerous. Regardless of the money, you will one day be recognised and I- I would probably be hanged, and then who would look after my sister?” They kept tumbling out without her permission, and she couldn’t stop, “I have  _nothing_ Dean, and you wish me to endanger myself and my family so you can live out some sort of- some sort of fantasy where the world is fairer? Some world where you can live a simple life? You cannot! It is foolish to believe otherwise, and the world is not fair and you are a princess! You belong in luxury, on the battlefield. It is your destiny.” she breathed, and the light in Dean’s eyes was dying. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” she protested, picking up errant salves and placing them in their correct places, her voice scratchy, “You are right. Of course. It’s- selfish. To want my own life. To not have anymore blood on my hands. What other fate could I possibly have? Not a happy one, not someone- someone like me.” 

She stormed out of the hut without another word and Castielle was alone. 

***

Anna arrived back at nightfall, chatting with someone, laughter bubbling through the misty air. She had bags piled on her back and an even brighter grin on her face than when she left. When Dean walked in alongside her, Castielle scowled.

Anna turned to her, hand on hip, “Castielle, why did you turn dear Dean out on her own? I did not think your bedside manner was this terrible!” she laughed good-naturedly. Castielle continued to glare at Dean, and Dean didn’t even have the good graces to bow her head away, just stared her down. So much for royal manners, Castielle fumed.

“She has not told you?” Cas asked, her thinly veiled anger apparent.

“That she is the lost princess?” Anna said deceptively softly, “Yes, Castielle. All the more reason you should have let her stay.”

Cas nodded and went to her bed without saying anything, panicked frustration and overwhelming joy warring inside her heart.

***

Dean became a staple, Anna’s apprentice’s apprentice, and she was a terrifyingly quick study. She could already read, which was unsurprising given her upbringing and intellect, but her bedside manner rivalled even Anna’s, going from precision and focus to soft laughs and raucous jokes.

Cas kept her distance, knowing full well that Dean was still angry at her for turning her away in a time of need, but her feelings of longing only grew stronger. The feelings were bruised and battered with the way every line of Dean’s face burned into her mind, the way she touched friends and patients alike, flirtatious and sweet and batting her long lashes. Every day she pushed those feelings down down, knowing they were unspeakably unrequited. She could see it in Dean’s smile draining away when she entered the conversation, her eyes still holding the betrayal close.

It wasn’t until Anna took the day off to visit a cousin that Dean and Cas were left to their own devices, alone for the first time since that day.

“I need more willow, are you journeying to the lake at any point today?” Dean asked, avoiding her eye.

Cas swallowed thickly, “I am, is there any more you need?”

Dean just looked at her, pained, her eyes wide, “I- No. I need nothing more. Thank you.”

Cas smiled hesitantly at her, and Dean gave a reluctant one back. It felt like progress.

She was tired, that day being the first lull in patients for several moons, and as she stumbled into the woods, she hadn’t noticed the shadow following her. She neared the lake, reaching for her knife to cut down as much willow as she could, but her head lunged forward meeting a knot in the willow tree. She felt a profound pain in her head blooming and she fell to her knees, her knife knocked away and her vision clouding. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was a shock of silver and a huge black horse.

***

“Cas?!” she heard a voice call, her love, and a smile crawled up her face. “Castielle? Listen to me, can you hear me?”

Her hand was warm and a little wet. Her head hurt. “I can’t help but hear you when you bellow so, Dean.” she rasped, and she heard a broken laugh.

“Anna, you are truly a miracle worker, I could kiss you!” Cas frowned inwardly at that until she heard another, slightly more gruff-sounding woman.

“You touch Anna and you’ll be in a worse state than that bandit, princess or not.”

Castielle’s eyes peeled open, and she was greeted by a familiar shock of silver, a suit of armour that lay scattered on the table by the fire. The woman with the gruff voice was sat by, drinking some mead and raised it in Cas’ general direction.

“What happened?” she asked indignantly, until she alighted on Dean, practically shaking with worry, and she automatically clasped her hand tightly. “And who are you?” she directed at the new woman. She was tall and slim, but clearly finely muscled, her arms strong. Her hair was long and resembled flaxen gold with the way it caught the light, and were it not for the littering of scars on every visible piece of skin, Cas would have assumed she was gentility.

She smirked, “I like this one,” she stood and proceeded to bow, keeping her mead upright, “Joanna Beth, Captain of Queen Ellen’s Guard, just saved you from a bandit out in the woods?”

Castielle’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. She’d been saved by a  _knight._ And from one of Winchester’s ally kingdoms too. She managed to push the embarrassment down and display gratitude, but she gathered it looked more like a grimace by Dean’s splutter of laughter. She ignored her sat up, careful not to dizzy herself, and looked at Joanna solemnly. “Thank you. I am eternally grateful to you.”

Anna burst through then and as soon as she saw Joanna, her strong frown lines dissipated into a soft and- loving smile? Cas looked (very slowly) to and from the two, beautiful women, and recognised the looks they were so openly giving each other. It was the kind of look she could feel on her face whenever she allowed herself to observe Dean a little too long.

“My brave knight,” Anna murmured, tracing her fingers down Joanna’s face as if it were the most precious thing in the kingdom, in every kingdom, every realm. Joanna placed her hand over it, staring up at her with such complete adoration, it made Cas’ heart hurt. “Thank you for saving my apprentice.”

The beautiful moment was broken as Dean coughed rather deliberately, and Anna rushed over, frown lines back on her face as she tended to her friend. Anna mixed various salves and carefully administered them. Dean’s hand didn’t let go of hers, even as she was asked to help Anna, she just did them with her other hand. Joanna smirked from where she was sat until Anna was done, opening her legs for Anna to settle on one of them, her hands clasped against Joanna’s chest. Castielle listened as the three of them talked throughout the evening, and the sound of her friends’ laughter echoed through her dreams.

***

The next day she was woken up a little sharply at dawn by the sounds of crying. Her first response was to jump out of bed and aid, what sounded like, Anna. As she rushed into Anna’s room, she found Joanna down on one knee, fastening a yellow piece of silk around Anna’s wrist, a piece of red silk already adorning her own. The sound of crying was, rather, the sound of Anna jumping up and down and squealing with absolute glee. Dean rushed in shortly after, sighing as she saw them before immediately checking Castielle’s bandage.

“Oh! Castielle, Dean, my loves,” Anna gushed, running over to them and squeezing them close to her in a remarkably firm embrace, “I shall miss you so.”

Castielle pulled away suddenly, “Miss us? Why would you miss us?” She sounded so like a child, she could hardly bear it.

Anna’s eyes were wet with tears. “Castielle, I am to wed Joanna in Harvelle. I’m leaving.” She placed her hands on Castielle’s shoulders before placing a hand on her face, and Cas realised she was crying. “You are the greatest apprentice and the best friend I could have asked for.” She kissed her on the top of her head, and Cas pulled at her to hold her close, burying her head in Anna’s neck. She muttered that she’d visit and Anna just chuckled, stroking the back of her head soothingly, gentle and kind as she always had been.

***

It was sunset by the time Anna and Joanna were ready to depart, the sun burning up the sky in a blaze of colour. They had ventured out to the edge of the woods, and Castielle had packed her several loaves of bread and some sweetmeats. Anna looked over at Dean and Castielle and smiled slyly.

“Castielle, I hope you take care of this one.” she winked and departed with a whinny of Joanna’s horse, riding off into the woodland, red and golden hair shimmering like fire in the dying light.

Cas tilted her head, turning to Dean who’s head was ducked down, her freckles stark and beautiful. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Dean?” she murmured.

Her head shot up and she gave her a lop-sided grin, “Cas?”

“Do you ever feel that there is a path you are on, that you cannot avoid it, even if you wanted to?” she asked wryly, watching Dean’s eyes light up as she turned to her.

She barely heard Dean whisper, “Yes,” before she was swept up in golden arms and the intoxicating smell of Dean, perfect  _perfect_ lips pressed against hers. The kissed long after the sun had set, the moon laying down its beams to illuminate their bright souls mingling. Castielle had never felt more at home than she did sat in the lap of the lost princess.


End file.
